


Telling Stories

by afewreelthoughts



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 03:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/pseuds/afewreelthoughts
Summary: Satin’s fingers find a knot between Jon’s shoulder blades, and Jon bites his lip to keep from moaning. “Did they teach you this…” he says, just to have something to say… “in - in Oldtown.”“Yes.”“I’m sorry,” Jon says. “I shouldn’t have asked.”“You can ask, if you want,” Satin says quietly. "I’d tell you.”





	Telling Stories

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing and make no money from this. Everything belongs to George R.R. Martin.

The bowl of steaming water gives off a sweet scent as Jon eases his feet into it. He doesn’t know where Satin acquired perfumed soap like that, whether he’d brought it with him to the Wall like other men brought their family swords, or if it was given to him by another member of the Watch in exchange for… for what he doesn't want to know.

 

The soap stings the blisters that have broken open at first, but the pain soon subsides, and Jon slumps further back in his chair. 

 

Jon had recently been fitted for new boots, and while a new pair was being crafted for him, he made do with others that had been left behind. They were slightly too small and chafed at his feet so much they blistered and bled, but that wasn’t important, not to the Lord Commander, and many days he was so distracted and it was so cold he hardly felt it. When Jon had pulled his boots off the night before, and his feet came out blistered and bloody, Satin began to heat water over the fire and told him to sit down. Jon had insisted that he “not fuss” and quickly scrubbed his feet before falling into bed.

But tonight he is too tired to argue with Satin and his fussing. So Jon is seated in the finest chair in his rooms, his feet in a bowl of sweet-smelling water that soothes them more and more by the minute, and Satin’s hands are rubbing circles on Jon’s back and kneading at the knots which seem to be everywhere.

Jon has no right to be as tense as he is. The wildlings are settling in, King Stannis has made few complaints as of late, and the men seem happier than they have been since before the battle. And yet every problem that arises seems more mundane and less bearable than the last.

Satin’s fingers find a knot between Jon’s shoulder blades, and Jon bites his lip to keep from moaning. “Did they teach you this…” he says, just to have something to say… “in - in Oldtown.”

He tenses again when he realizes what he’s said. 

Satin relaxes his grip and smoothes his hands over Jon’s shoulders. “Yes.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says. “I shouldn’t have asked.” 

Jon closes his eyes. He should enjoy this, as much as he appropriately can, and not ask Satin to relive anything uncomfortable or painful, nor anything sweet that he might be missing.

“You can ask, if you want,” he says quietly. "I’d tell you.”

His hands start massaging Jon’s shoulders again, and that is all the encouragement  Jon needs, it seems. 

“What… else did they teach you beyond the…” Jon searches for a word. “… the obvious.” 

“Seduction is supposed to be an art,” Satin says, his hands growing gentler and rubbing the back of Jon’s neck. _Gods_ he's tense. “All about making the client feel wanted, adored.”

Jon sighs.

“Some of the girls painted my face, whenever they were bored and wanted to practice.”

Jon imagines Satin’s cheeks painted red like a whore’s. He doesn’t like the image. 

“They would line my eyes in charcoal and color my lips pink.” 

He likes that one better.

“Were all of your clients men?” Jon asks.

“Most of them.” Satin picks up Jon’s right arm and rubs his thumbs over his biceps. Jon breathes through the pain of it. He likes this too much. Far too much...

“Three were women,” Satin murmurs. His hands move down Jon’s arm. "One of them was about to get married and was nervous about being sold, so she said, to a terrible man. She wanted to lay with someone else first, but needed to go to her bed a virgin."

“What did you do?” Jon asks.

"I ate her cunt, my lord."

Jon's cock twitches. He swallows. “And… and the others?” 

“They were older.” Satin works on Jon’s hand. Jon hadn’t thought of his hands as being tense, but as soon as Satin touches them, he bites back a moan. 

“One of them wanted to take complete control," Satin says. "She pushed me down on the bed and rode me until she was satisfied. The other wanted me to be her strong knight, and she wrapped her legs around me when I was inside her."

Jon feels hot. They are dangerously close to something approaching a vow. But they are only telling stories. 

“Did you enjoy it?” Jon asks. 

“Parts of it, my lord.”

“And did you enjoy… your encounters with men?”

“Parts of them, my lord.” 

Jon swallows. He is hard in his breeches, but looking down would only draw Satin’s eye. He will not do anything, will not break his vows or violate the trust Satin has in him. So he says nothing, lets Satin put down one hand and pick up the other. 

“Some of them wanted me in charge. They were rare. You don’t pick out a boy who looks like a maid just to get fucked by him.”

Jon does not know if he understands, but he is not sure if he knows anything anymore.

“The good ones, the ones who knew what they were doing, they’d move their hips like… “ Satin appears for the first moment awkward and unsure of what he’s saying. 

“Like what?”

Satin’s hands move to Jon's hair, scratching at his scalp and rubbing at his temples. “Slowly,” he says, "like a wave, cresting and pulling away."

“Do you miss it?”

It’s the one question Jon had told himself he would not ask, the one question that Satin could have no good answer for. 

“Sometimes,” he says softly. “Some of my customers made me feel… important, needed, if only for a minute." His hands stay in Jon’s hair. 

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jon knows why. Because he asked, he asked when he should not have, when no good could come of it. 

Satin cups the back of Jon’s head and tilts his face up. “I should think that’s obvious.”

Then Jon is standing up in the bowl, sloshing half of the sweet-smelling water over the side with the violence of his movement. He is not sure if he wants to pull Satin towards him or to push him away. 

Satin, the poor boy, clears his throat. "I went too far, my lord. I am sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Jon says. "I asked you to."

Satin picks up a rag and kneels down to wipe up the spilled water. 

"No, don't," Jon says. "I'll do that, it was my fault. Go to bed, I'll see you tomorrow."

Satin stands... hesitates. "I don't miss it, if you think that, my lord. At least I don't miss that part of it. Most of them just pushed me into the mattress and fucked me. It wasn’t about me, it was about the fact that they wanted to feel bigger than someone."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jon says. 

"I was good at it. I liked that part, being good at something." 

"You're an excellent steward."

Satin laughs. "And you're kind, my lord."

Jon aches. He wants him so badly that he aches. He reaches up and runs his fingers through Satin's hair. "You are. And you're a good man and a strong one. And I don't care what you did before you came here." 

Satin kisses him, gently at first, as if he's waiting for Jon to run or push him away. Jon stays, still awkwardly standing in that bowl, puddle growing around them as he kisses him back. 

"You said..." Jon says between kisses, "that seduction... is an art? This... is what you wanted... isn't it?"

Satin smiles against his lips. "You didn't take much work, my lord."


End file.
